Absolution
by scifiromance
Summary: Marika's upcoming funeral pushes Chakotay to talk to Seven in Astrometrics one more time... One-shot. Post 'Survival Instinct' S06xE02. Rated M for strong language only.


**A/n: I do not own Star Trek: Voyager.**

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"Hey." Seven's heartrate gradually resumed its normal rhythm, the knot of defensive tension in her gut easing, as Astrometrics' door opened not to an intruder, _someone_ ready to question, but to the entirely expected presence of Commander Chakotay. "You have today's report for me?" Marginally less formal than usual, though his greetings didn't have much room for variation. Any greeting with the description of 'good' didn't fit the day.

Seven demonstratively lifted the PADD that was, as always, waiting for him demonstratively. Really, he didn't need to speak to her at all. This daily exchange could easily be silent. That would break human social mores however, so he wouldn't consider it and she knew enough now to realiseknow that for her to neglect to respond would cause offence, or perhaps worse, concern. At least he was broadly efficient in their conversation, unlike Ensign Kim, or, especially, the Doctor. She'd quickly learned to add at least thirty minutes to her scheduled appointments in Sickbay, to avoid the disruption to her timetable the hologram's demand for her ear would otherwise cause. "Of course Commander." She assured him verbally, glancing around at him to catch the mildly self-deprecating smile pass over his lips. He too recognised the redundancy.

"Glad to hear it." He said warmly, taking the eye contact as permission to approach, stopping at her shoulder, his eyes on the main screen. "A Class III nebula?"

"Ten lightyears off our set course." She obligingly pulled up a summary of the multiple scans she'd taken onto the screen and heard his 'hmm' of consideration as he read. "It's a…'textbook example'." She told him, taking care with the turn of phrase but not hesitating to turn to him frankly. "Be sure to remind the Captain that that is exactly why it is not worth a diversion. I can catalogue it for our records sufficiently from here."

Chakotay laughed aloud; a rich, affecting sound. "I'll just tell her there's no coffee in it." Already anticipating her arched brow as her muscle just began to twitch, he explained, "Ah, long story, believe me."

"I do." Seven reassured him simply, then added, "Stories on Voyager are generally long."

"Those worth telling." Chakotay agreed with a rueful sigh.

Seven felt her throat tighten, the lump she'd grown painfully familiar with returning. The most recent 'story' of note would portray her in the worst light possible, and rightly so. "Yes." She answered shortly, then forced her to hold his waiting gaze, to appear calm and untroubled, to keep her tone light-hearted. "I really have no difficultyissue in believing anything involving the Captain where coffee is concerned."

Chakotay gave her a soft smile, though he blinked at her even as it formed. Seven felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise, something telling her that he could sense how much effort she'd put into her words, though she also knew that her voice itself had betrayed nothing. "Wise words." He remarked smoothly, starting to turn as if to leave but then pausing, "Where's Naomi today?" For the best part of a year it hadn't been unusual to see Naomi here regularly, or with Seven throughout the ship, but in the past couple of weeks the girl had been Seven's shadow, keeping vigil over her. Almost like a little guardian angel. He saw Seven glance away, if only for a split second, and saw that he was right. True affection and deep sorrow swelled in him, both thankful for and regretful of Naomi's perceptiveness that put the rest of them to shame. Los niños y los locos dicen las verdades, as his abuela would've said. Or out of the mouths of babes.

"She's with the Doctor." Seven answered with a defensive edge to her voice, though that wore away as quickly as it had surfaced. "He was insistent that she not miss her biology lesson."

"He's a keen teacher then, huh?"

You have no idea, Seven thought resignedly, thinking of her social lessons and the many, many well-meant lectures outside of that framework. "Indeed."

She thought she saw a grimace flicker over the Commander's face as he nodded to her and headed for the door. She turned back to her console with so much relief that she was ashamed of it, given how innocuous their conversation had been. Irrational! Then however, Chakotay's heavy tread stopped, and the door didn't open to usher him out. She was careful not to outwardly react, but she could sense that he was looking back at her. Indecisively it seemed, since silence now reigned over them. Finally he said, in that deceptively quiet voice of his, "I'm sorry about Marika."

Seven flinched at the name despite herself, the breath she'd been holding leaving her in a rush as she suddenly had to lean heavily on the console. Obviously her fear had _not_ been so irrational. "As am I." She told him thickly. Leave! Please leave! She was _more_ than sorry, why rub that in? It was such an insignificant, pointless word…

Chakotay took his time to absorb that, still watching her. "Are you going to the funeral?" he asked gently.

" _No_." Seven responded, hating the emotion that became in entangled in that single word. "Absolut inte!" She was arguing with him before he'd countered, expecting the same kindly, wheedling, misguided advice about 'closure' and 'forgiving herself' she'd been enduring for the last twenty three days.

"Okay." Chakotay murmured simply. His gaze didn't drop, as she'd come to expect when she was honest. Her innate opinions or reactions most commonly made those around her uncomfortable.

Surprise was soon overwhelmed by confusion. Just _okay_? Part of her was again, deeply relieved, but she also felt oddly hurt and her guilt hit her afresh. It was her own low opinion of herself confirmed. She heard the door start to open but now interrupted his move to leave. "Did…Did the Bojarans ask you to ensure I did not attend?" Her grip on the console was white-knuckled.

Chakotay turned back in an instant, the doors hissing closed again. "No." He replied vehemently, "Not at all. In fact, what they did ask me to put across to you is that you're welcome to be there." He hovered halfway between her and the door, tempted both to go to her and make his escape as he thought of how easily she could've been right. Voyager's Bajorans, Willkarah Marika's compatriots and new friends, could've easily laid on the blame on her. Friends on the blurry edge of a painful situation could be like that. Thankfully though, he knew that they hadn't. It might well have been difficult, under other circumstances, for the Bajorans themselves to come together. Those who had joined the Maquis, and those like Marika, who'd joined Starfleet, were generally on opposite sides of the spectrum politically. It was two vastly different, diverging ways to stand up to the Cardassians. Yet, in tragedy and with that deep spiritual connection he often envied, they'd come together for Marika's final days. He knew all this because, all of the other Bajorans, his old crew and Kathryn's, had come to him together for advice. If anything showed the unity Voyager's travails had gradually brought, it was that. He'd heard them out, let many of them unload to him in private too, but he'd always been sure to make the agony of Seven's position clear, and that they weren't to add to it. Still, he wasn't lying to Seven, he hadn't taken anything to do with the funeral, and they had told him Seven was welcome of their own accord, not through any pressure of his. He hadn't wanted to push Seven into a corner either, precisely why he'd accepted her first answer. But maybe she wasn't ready to drop it, even if she wanted to…

His heart squeezed in his chest as she finally turned to face him. She remained contained, not overtly emotional. Her back was still iron straight, her lovely statuesque body strong and imposing as ever, but there was a brittleness to her suddenly, hairline cracks in her stoicism that could be seen in the grey tinge to her complexion, the exhausted sway in her stance. The conviction in her voice however, belied all that. "That will not alter my decision." She told him resolutely, though reading the sincerity in his gaze drew more out of her. It demanded an explanation more than any scattering of questions would have. "It is not that I do not appreciate the concession…" She began, shaky now, and feeling distinctly that she'd just lost her footing on a slippery slope.

"It's not a concession Seven." He cut in firmly. He still held her gaze and she was unable to break it. Having someone focus on her while feeling particularly disconnected created an unconscious pull.

She recognised that he believed that. Despite the Commander's reputation for reserve, a good 'poker face' and the fact that he must've lived by deception while in the Maquis, she didn't think he was a liar. Or at least, he didn't tell the white lies others oft repeated to her, the ones that ate at her after the initial moment of comfort had passed. She couldn't hear exasperation either, but sadness. She didn't know what was worse, which kind of defences to raise. Frustration bubbled up within her and her throat went dry as she stared back at him and saw fresh meaning in his earlier expression of sorrow. "You should not feel sorry for _me_." She told him emphatically, "Only Marika."

Chakotay almost winced at the horror, the offence, in her voice, and gazed her helplessly for a moment. He rooted for an answer she wouldn't reject out of hand. His first instinct was to say, 'Of course I do' or to more fully admit that he couldn't help but feel pity. How hard-hearted did she think he or her crewmates were? But Seven didn't accept pity, never had. And didn't sympathy always make the scars of guilt sting more? He sighed heavily, "It wasn't fair. It was tragic. What happened to the three of them is terrible, of course I feel sorry." Pain flashed across Seven's face as she nodded stiltedly. "But Seven, we spoke about this, you were a victim too. All _four_ of you were victims of the Collective." She opened her mouth, but as in their earlier conversation, couldn't fully deny what he said, although part of her obviously wanted to. A new thought occurred to him, "How old were you when it happened anyway?"

She was unprepared for the direct question and answered automatically, "Seventeen years, ten months, eight days." Her face froze as she realised what he was getting at, then she glared at him resentfully. "My chronological age was irrelevant, as are any strict human definitions of maturity." She would've made the same reprehensible deluded decision that damned Marika, P'Chan and Lansor at eighteen as she had; she would've made the same decision on the day she boarded Voyager years later. He knew that as much as she did. "Physically I was an adult, and had been for years. Maturation chambers ensured that. I was not a child…" Her face hardened further, "I never was."

Chakotay's stomach twisted at the thought of how close to the truth that was, as well as the torture of the maturation chamber. Riley and Seven herself had given him an accurate idea, memories, of how the process went. "Maybe not." He admitted huskily.

Seven straightened again, holding herself away from him. "I realise that the question of responsibility is complex, even they…Marika and the others, recognised that in the end, but that complexity does not absolve me."

Chakotay wondered if she was excusing him from the task of trying to 'absolve' her, or if she was justifying her guilt. He couldn't do either of those. "No, it doesn't." He conceded, sighing heavily and leaning on the console as he saw her freeze, eyes wide. She may have an uncompromising attitude to the truth, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt to get it thrown in her face. "I'm not sure…" He closed his eyes for a moment, but memories still flickered rapidly and brutally behind his lids. Planning attacks on Cardassian bases. Passing judgement on collaborators. The feral rage of hand to hand combat, of revenge and justice. Being a 'terrorist' who wasn't honestly repentant. His reaction to Seska's betrayal... Seven was in this all because she'd been assimilated, if only her time as an individual was taken into account, her conscience would be relatively clear. Even dispatching that member of Species 8472 could have been blamed on the trauma of what the Borg had inflicted on her, though that was an awkward argument that asked more questions about her individuality and responsibility than it answered. "I'm not sure if there is such a thing as absolution." He eventually admitted quietly.

Seven stared at him wordlessly for however long, her blue gaze unreadable. "That…is not a view I expected you to have." She finally replied. Chakotay was a spiritual man, although his beliefs were certainly outside of Earth's mainstream traditional practices, or even those of his own tribe to a degree, to disown such a central tenet was unusual. Perhaps his reputation for spiritual crises was not unfounded. In her experience though, he was right.

"Hmm." He muttered noncommittally in response, shaking his head before looking her straight in the eyes. "We agreed that there wouldn't be a happy ending to this Seven, whatever happened, but more often than not, there's not even a _clean_ ending." He closed his eyes again briefly, "Your actions can be understandable, justified even, and consequences might not even be your fault directly, but knowing all that never makes the situation less messy." It was his turn to lean over the console, "Or less painful." He swallowed hard. True as that was, the self-flagellation Seven was putting herself through now was too much. He took a breath and looked down at his white, shaking hands, his fingers almost brushed Seven's. "What I'm saying Seven is that sometimes life is unfair… _fucked up_ even, and guilt comes along with that. But acceptance does too. You'll find that things happen that aren't your fault, but which you can't change. I know it doesn't seem to help now, being told that this wasn't your fault, but in time…"

Seven was as struck by his language almost as much as what he'd said. She'd never known Chakotay to curse, but she had to admit that his use was apt. What had happened never should have. "Everything seems to take time." She cut in sharply, "If there is anything I've learned about problematic emotion, it is that." She pressed her lips together as she shifted back from him, half ashamed, half liberated. "Marika only had twenty three days. P'Chan and Lansor perhaps less, certainly only a few days more." Chakotay didn't reply, and that was answer enough. She should have resented him for this, for peering into her emotional state, for analysing it. She'd been insolent with the Captain, just walked out on the Doctor, for approaching the subject, let alone drawing it out of her. What was the difference? He'd cornered her? No, not exactly. The Captain and the Doctor, there was always acute anxiety in their eyes as well as concern and pity. They were keeping an eye on her, as if they didn't expect her to cope with this, were anticipating irrational or destructive behaviour. _That_ was what stirred resentment, the lack of trust. The Commander wasn't anxious, there were no expectations of his to dash. He spoke as if he were thinking aloud, not recalling a comforting speech to help her. Empathy, that was what supplanted anxiety in his gaze. Part of her regretted that, she wouldn't wish empathy, similar experience, of what she was feeling on anyone. Perhaps she was reading too much into it, it could merely be a skill he had. That his counsel tended to provide more of a mirror to reflect on, rather than a mould to try to squeeze fruitlessly into. "I would have wasted those twenty three days."

Chakotay grimaced sadly, "You were in a very different position when you were…cut off." He reminded her, needlessly he knew. "It's not your fault you've needed time. We…We just needed you to integrate as quickly as possible. We expected…" He stopped himself, blowing air out through gritted teeth, "I don't know what the hell we expected."

Seven glanced at him pointedly, "You did not expect much at all."

Chakotay winced at her bluntness. "No." He conceded, "I'm sorry…"

"Unnecessary." Seven interrupted, waving him off. "I would have agreed with you."

Chakotay tried to smile, "Hindsight is always 20/20."

"Indeed." Seven shivered as she breathed the word and Chakotay noticed, giving the hand nearest his own on the console, the one most afflicted with implants, the gentlest of squeezes before letting go. She stared down at her now slightly warmer hand for a moment then looked away. "My parents would most likely discover that."

Chakotay gave a start, not tacking on immediately to the abrupt change in subject. "What?"

"In the Raven's logs…" Seven began in a deceptively matter of fact tone, "My father records a…family disagreement before they departed."

'They' not 'we', Chakotay noted. "What kind of disagreement?"

"My paternal grandfather pushed for me to be left in my aunt's custody, on Earth. Irene Hansen almost filed, but my father talked her out of it, she decided to support the mission."

"Your father logged something like that?" Chakotay asked, though obviously it was true. The Hansens had left when Annika was three, there was no way Seven could clearly recall even what was likely to have been a major family rift.

"He logged everything that may have had a bearing on the mission." Seven replied, "He was very…methodical." Obsessive more like, Chakotay thought. He was all for keeping a personal log, but there were surely things that were better kept to yourself. Sometimes he wondered if studying the effect of three years deep space exploration on their family had been part of the Hansens' mission. From the fraction he'd read of 'The Hansen Diaries' as Kathryn called them, their monitoring of their daughter's development for example had been…meticulous. Seven obviously read the shock and distaste on his face, "You did not read that section?"

"No." Chakotay shifted uncomfortably, "I only read what you'd been reading, surrounding the Hansens' technology."

"You only perused what was relevant." Seven concluded. Her tone was approving, her eyes were abjectly grateful for the tiny measure of privacy.

"That's what I tried to do." Chakotay agreed. All the while I was thinking that you'd gone back willingly. "Seven…you've been reading your parents' files again?"

"Somewhat." Seven answered awkwardly.

"Why?" Chakotay blanched slightly at his own question. "I mean, you _can_ , they're yours, but I just thought…"

"I have frequently considered destroying them." Seven confessed, "But…after recent events I felt the need to reassess them."

Chakotay nodded, suspecting that the main purpose had been to punish herself. There was nothing like being at a guilty low-ebb for trying to beat yourself down further. "Can I ask what you were looking for?"

"I don't know." Seven's voice cracked, painfully candid. "The Hansens speculated a great deal about the psychological state of the drones. I thought…hoped, that perhaps there was an…easier explanation for why I acted as I did."

Chakotay hesitated, "And was there?"

"Nothing I did not already know." She looked at him ruefully, "Your explanation seems the most valid Commander. I…I did appreciate you giving it to me. I most likely would have sent them back to the Collective if you had not…"

"No, you wouldn't have." Chakotay broke in, laying a hand lightly on her bowed shoulder, "You knew what was best without me Seven, it just…hurt and I listened to you sorting it out, okay?"

"Still…" Seven gazed up at him, "I appreciate it, and this conversation too." Then she looked away abruptly, "But I am not attending the funeral. It would not be respectful."

Chakotay considered her pale face for a moment, the stubborn but sincere gaze. "I can understand that." His hand dropped from her shoulder.

"The Captain will be expecting that report." Seven reminded him quietly when he didn't immediately move away.

"Right." Chakotay cleared his throat, "She will be of course." He managed a smile for her, "I'll remember your advice about that nebula."

Seven gave a gracious nod, "As you should." He took that as permission to leave and the doors finally reopened. "Goodbye Commander."

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 **A/n: Please review.**


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